Circus

Let the sky shatter with a million child-screams!
Tear the violet lace from the eyes!
Let sun radiate from our fingertips and shine in glorious gold!

Near the ground, insects line up, magnetically pulled into order
lines of electric circuits, DNA, the manna of the universe
built from the racing hearts of protons, the soul of
electrons, afire with blue song,
this joyous energy that is life, a system for
defeating ignorance and chaotic death

We waltz with destruction and sculpt it into
new forests, beautiful bones, we pair objects in
love, clinked together as magnets
yin and yang, red and blue, male and female
the prickle of information flow, perfected in
crystalline form, yet flesh, soft curved
this is the domain of the pentacle

We wizards ride the wave of chaos
and gaze at the stars
The birds of our hearts fly over the heads of the
poor and tired, and we sing
Our warm rays embrace the dawn, orange and
scented of newness,
and in the blink of existence we give everything,
slowly working to repair, fix, correct, order, encapsulate,
and express, a flow of love and intercommunication.

We ride a river of destiny, white water booms
its core to the rim of the universe
We are all subject to its whims yet in our souls
we understand it, and bend its jagged
rocks into smooth spirals.

Come, traveller!
Come, lost, wanderer!
Come beauty, explorer, troubadour, princess and forest!
Come cloud and crowd, air and spirit!
Come kind soul and sacrifice!
Come silent voice, eye and ear, come!
Come drifter, seed, salt in wind!

Float with us,
breathe the air of Swedenborg
and stretch towards the crimson tent,
come to the ring, to the cavalcade of heroes, to the lovers
and lost, the seekers of meaning

Pay for a ticket and enter the hallowed place
this archway and gateway, this threshold of transformation,
this palace of adventure,
this factory, temple, auditorium of embraces

Sleep red, warm, animals from ancient times, rememories
scents of popcorn, toffee, smoke and organ pipes, gentle bells
this tepid miasma
liquid air
the soft clay of flesh bit
blind ecstasy
anticipation
the record platter turns.

"You will seek it: love."

© Mark Sheeky. Permission is required for reproduction.